


Intricate Designs

by StilesBastille24



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian didn't care what anyone said, soulmates was an entirely stupid ideology. So Ian doesn't care when Mickey Milkovich is stealing crap from the Kash & Grab for the third time this week and the sleeve of his winter coat pulls up enough that Ian can see his design. It's a perfect parallel to the one on Ian's right wrist and Ian is completely unimpressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intricate Designs

It was stupid. Ian didn't care what anyone said, soulmates was an entirely stupid ideology. He couldn't deny that soul designs, and of course they had a ridiculous name, existed, but fuck if they actually meant anything. 

You learned in school how they use to decide royal marriages, rights to ascension, blah blah blah. That all meant shit now. Soul designs were just a unique series of dots and lines, half an inch to two inches, on the inside of your right or left wrist. The point was that your oh-so-special design on the inside of say your right wrist would match up perfectly with the same design on the inside of your soulmate's left wrist. Then it was all angels singing and rainbows or whatever the fuck Hollywood wanted you to believe. 

Stupid, like Ian said. It was an ancient artifact of a bygone time. The purpose of designs was to match people with the most compatible genes. Survival of the best genes and all that crap. That was it. It wasn't a magic bullet for romance or love or even complimentary personalities. 

Ian would know all about the latter. His parents were soulmates. His fantastic alcoholic loser of a dad and his bipolar mom who ditched the family. Soulmates. Popped out half a dozen kids with presumably wonderful genes due to the wonders of ''soulmates' then proceeded to ruin their kids' lives due to 'soulmates' not actually meaning jackshit. 

Ian wants it noted that soulmates are stupid. So fucking stupid. And yet people still chase after that dream. Like Debbie who swears she won't even date unless it's her soulmate. And Hollywood still clings to the fantasy of soulmates, pumping out one soulmate rom-com blockbuster per year. 

For the most part, though, nobody cares. The designs aren't sacred or anything, just biological remnants that society would be better off forgetting all about. So yeah. Ian doesn't care when Mickey Milkovich is stealing shit from the Kash & Grab for the third time this week and the sleeve of his winter coat pulls up enough that Ian can see his design. 

It's not intricate like Mandy's design, whose got hers all bedazzled and shit, stick on rhinestones clinging to each of her dots. It's not bold like Lip's, thick dark lines and wide round dots. No, Mickey's is simple, boring even, and exactly the fucking same as Ian's. 

Ian's design is small, a bit faded looking and a perfect replica of the Aries alignment. Ian's always been heavily unimpressed with it. His stupid freckles are more exciting than the design. Except on Mickey fucking Milkovich, the design looks perfect. It matches the color of his 'fuck u-up' tattoos and stands out starkly against his pale skin. 

Ian's design looks fucking beautiful on Mickey's left wrist, the perfect parallel to the one on Ian's right wrist and Ian could not give less of a shit. 

"$12.80," he says, glaring at Mickey. 

The neighborhood thug stops to cant an eyebrow at him. Ian gets the message clearly. _The fuck you say to me?_

"$12.80 with tax for the lighter, the beer, the chips, and the Oreos," Ian clarifies. 

Mickey eyes the contents of his bag, pulls out the lighter and whips it at Ian's head who ducks with practiced ease. 

"$11.74," Ian says, picking up the lighter and cramming it back into the display by the register. 

Mickey flips him off and leaves, the bell chiming cheerfully at his departure.

Like Ian said, soulmates are fucking stupid. 

 

"Milkovich?" Lip asks, passing the joint to his brother. 

Ian shrugs, holding the joint to his lips and inhaling. 

"Do you think he noticed yours?"

Ian shakes his head. "Would have probably threatened to fucking kill me if he had."

"Damn." Lip holds out his hand for the joint, folding the other hand behind his head and lying back on the carpet to stare up at the ceiling of their bedroom. "Who the fuck would have guessed Mickey was gay?"

Ian rolls his eyes."He doesn't have to be gay. You know that. Designs have fuck all to do with anything but genes. So at most, Mickey and I would have some fucking beautiful impossible assbabies."

This sets off Lip and he laughs so hard he drops the joint which singes the carpet. Ian snatches it up quick, patting out the sparks because Fiona would have a fucking fit if they burned a hole in the carpet.

Lip reaches over and grabs Ian wrist, turning it to trace his thumb over Ian's design. "Well, at least you don't have to spend the rest of your life wondering who it is."

"Right." Ian punches his brother's ribs, hard. "Because there was such a danger of that before."

Lip smirks. "I know you're secretly a romantic about that shit, man."

"Yeah, that's why I'm fucking my married boss, cuz I'm a total sucker for romance."

That starts Lip laughing again and this time Ian joins in.

 

Ian's at Mandy's losing rather spectacularly at Call of Duty. He’s wearing a hoodie as a precaution even though it's too hot in the Milkovich house because Ian wasn't kidding about Mickey kicking his ass if he found out about the design. 

Ian figures if he was anybody else, he'd be celebrating finding his soulmate, because even though soulmates don't mean much, finding yours is still a rare occurrence. Statistics say out of every thousand people, only three will find their match. It has something to do with geographic location, population at your year of birth, your own genes, blah, blah, blah. Ian doesn't care. He just doesn't want to get trounced by Mickey Milkovich, dirtiest white boy of America. 

Which of course is why not even thirty seconds later, Mickey drops down on the couch beside them, kicking his foot into Ian's and causing him to blast Mandy's player.

"Douchebag!" Mandy scowls.

"Bitch," Mickey responds before stealing the control from Ian. 

It's utterly unsurprising. There's this really weird truce going on between them outside of the Kash & Grab vicinity. Ian's willing to bet it's only under threat of Mandy cutting off her brother's balls in his sleep if he's an asshole to her boyfriend when she's around. 

Ian drops his head onto Mandy's shoulder and subtly inches his body closer to hers and further from Mickey's. But the asshole just spreads his legs wider stealing all of those inches back. Mickey's design is on full display which only makes Ian clutch more tightly at the cuffs of his sleeves. 

And then things go to hell. Mandy wins and in a fit of victory joy, she grabs Ian's hand raises it with hers swinging them together in celebration. He feels the material of his hoodie slip down to his elbow. Before he can scramble it back in place, he watches in horror as Mandy’s gaze skips from his design to that of her brother. Swearing, Mandy jerks Ian off the couch, hand vice like around his. 

"Fuck you!" Mickey shouts after their retreating figures as Mandy drags him into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. She shoves him toward the bed as she dodges to the stereo, blaring Rage Against the Machine at deafening levels. 

"The fuck, Ian," she hisses, throwing herself down onto the bed next to Ian so they can actually hear each other over the music. 

Ian shrugs helplessly because he's not exactly sure what she wants him to say. Ian's not great with girls and until Mandy accused him of rape then consequently became his beard, he'd never imagined having a female best friend. He had Lip, he didn't need anybody else. Except Mandy was fucking awesome and he was glad things worked out between them. Well, he had been until this exact moment. 

"Ian," She stares at him, her shock overemphasized by the black eyeliner circling her eyes. "that is Mickey's fucking design."

Ian curls his fingers into the cuffs of his hoodie sleeves, keeping them secure over his wrists. "Well, I mean, it's my design too, but I guess Mickey was born first . . . " he trails off. 

"What the fuck is Mickey's design doing on your fucking wrist?" She proceeds to grab said wrist and claw back his sleeve until she can press her thumb against the design. 

It feels like she's trying to rub it off. Like in some fanatical fit of desperate desire for Mickey, Ian inked the design himself. People have been known to do that, especially when it comes to celebrities. Mickey Milkovich is a lot of things, but he is not a fucking celebrity. He's not even a fucking catch in terms of the Southside.

He's a 5'7" thug with porcupine hair, an apparent aversion to showering, and a habitual tendency toward violence. Ian Gallagher is aiming for West Point and a buff Army boyfriend, thank you very fucking much, not Mickey Milkovich. 

"Jesus, Mandy," Ian says as he snatches his wrist back and covers up the design. "Can we maybe never talk about this? That would be fucking great."

Mandy gapes for a moment, processing this, then she slaps Ian upside the head. "Fuck you, my brother deserves to know."

"Uhm, yeah, maybe if he wasn't going to crush my nuts if he found out." Ian stares at her incredulously because is Mandy delusional? Nothing, absolutely nothing good would come of Mickey being in the know about this. 

"That is his design on your wrist, how can you not tell him?"

"Mandy, this is Mickey, your brother Mickey, we are talking about. He would cause serious damage to my body if he ever found out that my design lines up with his. You know that." He takes both her hands in his and squeezes, aiming for something like reassuring, but also needing to ground himself in the fact that this awful thing where Mandy knows about his design is real and he can't reverse time to a point when she didn't. 

Mandy sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, chewing on it as she casts her eyes over Ian then towards the door of her bedroom beyond which her brother is hopefully still engrossed in Call of Duty and not giving a fuck about them. "When are you doing the West Point thing?"

And Ian doesn't think he's crazy for finding that a random topic switch. Still, he goes with it because literally anything is better than them talking about his design. "Uh, like after high school."

"Ian, seriously," she narrows her eyes at him. "For my plan to work you'd have to be going there at the end of this year. Then you could just like send him a letter right before you ship off and he'd know but he also couldn't kill you because you wouldn't be here."

"Wow." Ian shakes his head once, then twice. "Honestly, that does not sound like an awesome plan to me."

"Whatever," she huffs, fluffing her hair behind her shoulder. "You're plan is never to tell him which means your plan sucks one hundred percent more than mine."

"Uh, no, it doesn't, because I can pretty much guarantee Mickey doesn't want to find out his soulmate is a dude, especially not a red haired, freckled dude from the Southside." Ian gestures expansively at himself. 

Mandy scoffs. "You're hot, shut up." And she shoves him for good measure.

He can't fight his grin as he tackles her onto the bed. "No, you're beautiful, Mandy. You're beautiful."

She laughs, trying to kick him off but not with enough effort to actually do anything. When the door bangs open, they're engrossed in a tickle fight. "Go the fuck home, Gallagher," Mickey shouts, chucking one of Mandy's shoes at his back.

Ian kisses Mandy's cheek before pushing off the bed and hurrying out of the Milkovich house incredibly grateful for the reprieve. 

 

Kash likes Ian's design. Loves running his forefinger down it, stopping at each dot to press lightly against the skin. Ian used to think it was a sexy gesture, Kash liking his design even though it wasn't a match to his own, because of course Kash married his soulmate even though he's gay. See, like Ian said, the designs don't mean anything beyond biology, they are fucking stupid.

Now, as they press together in the back room and Kash runs his finger down Ian's design, it feels . . . not sexy. It feels wrong, actually. Like kind of gross wrong. Like Kash is touching him in a private place that should only be for Ian. Well, Ian and Mickey. Which also feels wrong. 

So he tries to suffer through, not wanting Kash to think something weird is going on with him. Except, when Kash lifts Ian's wrist to his mouth and kisses the design, Ian kind of freaks. Like kind of snatches his wrist back and shoves Kash back a step. 

Their both surprised by his reaction, staring in disbelief at one another. Kash frowns apologetic, opens his mouth to say something but Ian cuts him off. "I'm sorry, I'm just weird tonight." He shakes his wrist, rubbing it discreetly against the back of his black jeans to wipe away the feel of Kash's lips against his skin. 

Kash nods uncertainly. "It's okay, you said you're having a tough week at school, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ian nods hurriedly, grateful for the excuse. "School's been shit and Frank's crashing at the house which is always fucking awful."

Kash smiles, pulling Ian for a hug and a kiss to the temple. "How 'bout you head out early? Catch up on your school work or sleep or something? I'll tell Linda you thought you were coming down with something."

"Thanks," Ian says, seriously grateful. He lifts onto his toes, pecking Kash's lips before dodging out the backroom. "See you tomorrow."

 

He’s lying in bed, arm held above him, left hand tracing that stupid design across his skin. Ian's never really thought much about it before, finding his soulmate that is. He figured it'd be some blonde chick with great breasts that he couldn't have less of an interest in. He never thought it'd be a guy, he never thought it'd be someone from the Southside. He never thought much about it at all because he knew it was all stupid genetics crap, didn't mean anything. 

Still. He closes his eyes and finds himself conjuring up Mickey. Dirty fucking Mickey Milkovich. Boy needs a giant bar of soap and serious water pressure, a new hair style wouldn't hurt either. And his personality, jesus. He pays Lip to write his English papers, he hasn't passed a class since freshman year, and Ian still remembers him peeing on first base during their little league game. 

No, he's not at all what Ian would have ever imagined if he'd ever taken the time to imagine his soulmate. He finds himself wondering what Mickey pictured for his soulmate, if he'd pictured anything at all. He was probably counting on the blonde with big tits, never for one second realizing that a skinny kid with too many freckles had been destined to bare his design. 

Maybe Mandy's right. Maybe Mickey has the right to know that Ian's his soulmate if only to crush those expectations of a soulmate who is never going to exist. The problem is Ian isn't willing to risk it. He's really rather attached to all his body parts and he doesn't want to fucking lose them to a Mickey ragefest about the stupid design that Ian can't control anyway. 

He's seen the beatings Mickey unleashes on people, he's even seen them on Lip when the paper he wrote for Mickey didn't attain the grade Mickey was looking for. Which, Mickey was an asshole, the paper got him an A which Mickey felt was just too unrealistic. 

Ian groans, dragging both palms down his face. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Ian would have taken the blonde with big boobs over this shit any day. 

 

"You're out of Pringles," Mickey says. He's holding his customary bag of goods he has no plans on paying for, stalling by the cashier counter. 

"Right," Ian says caustically, "I'll get right on that."

Mickey smirks, tilting his head to a dangerous angle, one that tells Ian he's looking for a fight. "You sayin' you don't care about your patrons needs, Gallagher?"

"Patrons pay, you don't. So no, I'm not too worried about our thieves' needs." Ian flips a page in the magazine he's reading as if this conversation is boring him. In fact, he's paying special attention to keep his right wrist practically cemented to the counter top. He forgot his fucking hoodie and all it would take is one wrong move and Mickey could see his goddamn design. 

"Maybe you ought to worry about mine," Mickey says, grabbing hold of the collar of Ian's shirt and yanking him forward over the counter until Ian’s hip bones are crushing painfully into the counter.. 

Ian doesn't fight the grip even though he's pretty sure he could get out of it because he seriously doesn’t want this to escalate anymore than it already has. "Why the fuck you always stealing from here, Mickey?" he asks, and there goes that plan for keeping things non-escalated. 

"You fucked with Mandy."

"I did not. You know that." Ian looks up into Mickey's eyes, sees the way they slide down his face, across his chest, up his arms, and holy shit! Mickey Milkovich is checking him out. Ian's jaw drops in surprise and Mickey shoves him back roughly. 

He sneers at Ian. "You got a problem with me, you know where I live." Then he leaves the store. 

Ian sags back against the wall of cigarettes. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Mickey Milkovich was checking him out. His soulmate was checking him out. 

 

He skips class on Tuesday. He knows it's idiotic because Fiona's going to chew him out for it and Mandy's going to badger him about where he was, but he does it anyway. Because Mickey checked him out and he also wasn't at school today. Mickey might be on a drug run with his dad and brother's or he might just be cutting class like the lazy asshole he is. Ian isn't sure which one he is hoping for more. 

It takes him a minute to work up the nerve to knock on Mickey's front door and when he does, it takes five minutes for no one to answer. Deciding to press his luck further, Ian tries the door. It's unlocked. He eases it open and scans the house. 

As far as he can see it's empty. The door to Mickey's bedroom is shut and Ian is a complete fucking idiot and possibly also a stalker, because he goes straight for the door and opens it. The creak of the rusted hinges is enough to wake Mickey who rolls over with a look of disgust on his face. 

"Gallagher?" the word comes out tinged with sleep, Ian doesn't know why that makes his stomach flutter anxiously. 

He doesn't like Mickey, he doesn't even find him attractive, but here he is, standing in the guy's bedroom for absolutely no reason. Ian finds himself saying, "Mandy thought you should know." Then he rolls up the sleeve of his Chicago Blackhawks jacket. 

Mickey's blue eyes track the movement, freezing on the design then darting back up to Ian. "You fucking serious?" he asks, tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth. 

Ian just shrugs. 

"You fucking tell anyone?" Mickey asks sounding equal parts pissed and panicked. 

"Mandy knows and so does Lip."

"You tell anyone fucking else and I will cut your fucking tongue out." Mickey lifts his eyebrows and press his lips together, everything about him screaming _I am not fucking kidding._

"It doesn't mean anything," Ian defends, not sure why he feels like he has anything to defend in the first place. "It's all genetics and stupid bullshit."

Mickey's shifting up, moving closer to where Ian is standing at the edge of his bed. "You think this means we're soulmates?" he smirks, holding his wrist up. 

Ian can't help but move forward so that their wrists are side by side, the designs aligning perfectly. Ian has the desperate urge to smash their wrists together and feel those designs press against each other. It wouldn't feel like anything, he knows that, just skin on skin, not fireworks, no flashes of their perfect future, just fucking nothing. 

"I'm not fucking gay," Mickey says staunchly.

"I am," Ian says without hesitation. He hasn't told anyone but Lip or Mandy about that either, but just like the design, he shares it with Mickey. 

Mickey shakes his head, glancing up at Ian from the corner of his eye. "You're a fucking idiot, how'd you make it this far alive, Gallagher?"

"Lip," Ian answers honestly. 

That makes Mickey laugh and Ian's never heard him laugh before, didn't even really think he was capable of it. Ian's horrified to find the sound enchanting. It isn't helping anything that Mickey is the least dirty Ian has ever seen him and his hair is smooshed down from sleep instead of prickling up all over his scalp. Suddenly, everything is awful because Ian is fairly certain he's attracted to this version of Mickey Milkovich. 

"So what you doing here then? Mandy think I'd be broken hearted if I never met my soulmate?" He arches an eyebrow at Ian.

Ian shrugs again. "She said it wasn't fair for me to know and you not to."

"Well, you're good deed's done for the day and we're both going to pretend it never happened or else I'd have to kill you so," he jerks his head toward the door of his bedroom. 

Ian nods, but takes a step closer instead of away. "Can I touch it?"

"The fuck?" Mickey asks, his face contorted in confused disapproval, like no matter what Ian asked he would say no on principle alone. 

Ian shakes his head quickly, because yeah, that came out weirder than he intended. "Since we're going to pretend this never happened, can I touch your design?"

Mickey looks uneasy, his shoulders hunching forward. "The fuck you need to touch it for? Just a stupid birth defect."

"I know . . . I just . . ." Ian reaches out for Mickey's arm but stops short of touching the other boy. 

After a few silent moments of defeat, Mickey sighs with aggravation. "Fucking fine, just be quick about it, yeah?"

Ian nods vigorously, then he waits for Mickey to turn over his wrist. When his design is visible, Ian reaches forward with tentative fingers, barely brushing the skin. He looks up at Mickey for retribution but finds none, instead, Mickey's gaze is locked on where Ian is touching him. 

Feeling slightly more brave, Ian presses his thumb against Mickey wrist, tracing those familiar lines and dots. Mickey's breath stutters and Ian tightens his grip. 

"Fuck," Mickey exhales.

"Yeah," Ian whispers, and the next moment they're crashing together, Mickey grabbing him by the back of the neck to pull him on the bed and Ian shoving his free hand up the back of Mickey's shirt. 

Their clothes come off and their body's slot perfectly together, Mickey's breath hot against Ian's neck as they rut together. Ian shoves Mickey around and they end up doing something Ian never imagined in all his life he'd be doing. They have sex and it's fucking amazing. 

Best sex of Ian's life and it's not like he has a lot to compare it to but holy fuck is it good. The way that Mickey is panting afterwards makes Ian think it was good for him as well. They're stretched out side by side, arms touching where their designs mirror each other. 

"Soulmates are still fucking bullshit," Mickey says, reaching above them on the headboard to retrieve smokes and a lighter. He offers Ian the cigarette after taking a drag and Ian gratefully accepts it. 

"We'd have fucking cute as shit kids though," Ian says and Mickey laughs, snatching the cigarette away from him and punching him in the ribs for good measure. 

"You're a fucking idiot."

" _Your_ fucking idiot," Ian teases, not really sure where any of this is going but thinking soulmates might not be that stupid after all. 

 

Three years down the line, Ian still thinks soulmates are stupid because there's no way in hell he and Mickey can have a kid, but he's kind of grateful for them anyway. Because Mickey might not be in the Army and he might not be the typical kind of buff, but he's fucking everything Ian wants. He's a shit talking, bitch slapping, piece of Southside trash and Ian wouldn't want him any other way.

And okay, maybe they compromised on how often showering is necessary and what hair styles might make Mickey look less ridiculous and maybe Mickey made him throw out the Chicago Blackhawks jacket. And maybe Mandy claims all the credit for them getting together and maybe Lip brags about how he fucking knew Mickey was gay before Ian did. And maybe Ian and Mickey drive each other crazy and maybe Ian didn't go to West Point and maybe he's barely a high school graduate and maybe Mickey never bothered to finish. But honestly, they don’t care because they’ve still got each other.

And maybe they share an apartment that's only half a step nicer than their childhood homes. And maybe they split a bottle of vodka on the anniversary of Terry getting life for a drug bust. And maybe they fuck like rabbits every chance they get. And maybe they're in love with each other.

But that's all them. The soul designs get jack all credit for that, because Ian thinks they're real soulmates, the kind that would have found each other with or without the designs, the kind that would find each other in every other universe out there that might exist. He doesn't say that to Mickey cuz Mickey would punch him and call him a fucking idiot, but he knows Mickey thinks it too by the way he lines up their designs and traces the pattern on Ian's skin before kissing him hard and desperate. 

So yeah, soul designs are stupid, but Ian doesn't really care about that anymore because they brought him to Mickey and Mickey is worth suffering all kinds of stupid shit for.


End file.
